


rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky

by peachypylades



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Izumi is Matchmaker, M/M, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, kindergarten teacher sokka, no beta we die like jet, she holds too much power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachypylades/pseuds/peachypylades
Summary: “It’s just me, duckling.” Sokka says softly, leaning his head on Zuko’s shoulder. It’s close enough that Izumi can see her teacher’s face, and Sokka can see the shock that crosses her little expression.“You’re--” A hiccup, followed by Zuko patting her back comfortingly. “-- having a sleepover party without me? W- With m-my favorite teacher?”“Sok-- Mr. Tuvak is your only teacher, ‘Zumi.”Zuko did not anticipate the first day of school jitters to lead to this. No, really, he didn't.
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 498





	rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> hello! here is my child, my kindergarten teacher sokka au.  
> yell at me on tumblr/instagram @paintedpatroclus or on twitter @paintedpatrocls

There has been a lot of things Zuko has had to prepare himself for in this life. The birth of his daughter is high on the list. He did not expect the first day of school to feel _just_ as pressing. 

“Otou-san! Look! Look! Look-- hey! You’re not looking!”

“I am so sorry, ‘Zumi. One of us has to pick out your outfit, though.” _We only have so much time here,_ Zuko thinks. Nevertheless, he has always been terribly at denying his daughter anything. 

Zuko spins around in his mismatched socks— he never has the time to actually do laundry around here— to look down at his excitable daughter. Pieces of his bun fall down into his face, and his scarred eye is puffy from sleeping on it. It’s pink at the edges, a deep burn from childhood. Izumi hardly notices it now though— that’s just Otou-san, to her. She has never known a Zuko that looked any different. Somehow, her easygoing acceptance is what makes Zuko the happiest. She is the first person to have no preconceived notions about him. That is simply her dad, who she thinks is tall because he can reach on top of the fridge, who is nice because he gives her cookies for lunch. Children’s minds, Zuko thinks, are so brilliant. So beautiful. 

“What is it, Zumi?” He asks, folding an outfit over one arm. 

“Look at _me!_ Look what I can do!” Izumi lines herself up on the carpet, spins with one foot off the ground, her arms pulled in close. She stumbles onto the floor and laughs, looking up at her father with the biggest grin on her little chubby cheeks. Her glasses, framed with glittery pink rims, are pressed up from the rise of her cheeks. “I’m a figure skater! Did you see me spin? I spin real good! Can we go ice skating after school, Otou-san?” 

Zuko laughs, kneels down to his daughter. He thinks Izumi is precious— the way she’s got his grin, his shining brown eyes. He hoists her up, situates her on his hip. (He would risk a lot of things for Izumi, and it turns out back pain is one of them.)

“I think school will tire you out enough, Izumi. Maybe one of these weekends soon, okay?” He has gotten very good at distracting her. “Now, how about this pretty dress and these stockings? You’ll blow everyone away at school, I know it.” he pokes her tummy, and she erupts into bright chiming giggles. Izumi has always been a quiet, shy kid. He knows she’s going to be nervous and shy the moment he walks her up to the schoolhouse, so he might as well build her confidence up now, while he has a chance. If he is honest, it is what worries him the most about taking her to school today-- how much he worries about her surrounded by other kids, not being the talkative or loud type like they often were. Izumi was a gem in the rough, the softest girl who loved reading picture books before she loved running around making messes. It’s what made her different, it's what she took after her father. Yet, it is also what will make or break this experience.

He wishes he could’ve cracked her out of her shell, but he has hardly ever cracked out of his own. 

“Okie dokie artichokie!” Izumi squirms out of her father’s arms and tumbles to the floor-- a kid with rubber bones, honestly-- and stumbles away from him. Druk meows loudly when she flops the dress atop him, the little sphynx squirming out of his comfortable spot. Probably to go bother Momo and his warm fur in the other room. Zuko follows the cat out, and sets to preparing her bento box, her backpack and a plethora of registration papers laid out over the kitchen counter. 

He really thought this day would take longer to get here, but in hindsight, six years really is not that long. Not when you have a daughter that grows up way too fast, and suddenly she is almost as tall as your hip and she just keeps growing. Sure, Zuko’s a shortie, but he did not think of himself as slightly-taller-than-a-incoming-kindergartner short. 

He really cannot comprehend a world without his daughter in it; whether it be by his side as he works in the home office, following him to the coffee shop for the umpteenth refill, or running into his office to show him her beautifully colored coloring page, complete with her own personal ad-ins that Aang had taught her-- _“see_ Otou-san _, this one is a bird these are his wings!”_ Izumi was always there, since the day she had been born, she had been swaddled up in his lap, sleeping by his side, rocked in the rocking chair by the window. She had chased the cats down on her belly and once she learned to crawl, she was grabbing at their tails. She had always been with him, babbling over him as he read over every book, crying when he left her at Aang’s when he had a business meeting out of town. They had not gone more than a few hours away from each other on the day-to-day, and they had not been away from one another’s sides for more than a week. So this whole school thing was bound to be the best thing to get Izumi out of her shell, or it would scar her for life and she would remain tucked under Zuko’s wings like a scared duckling. 

So, there were pros and cons. 

Still, she needed this. 

He finishes packing her lunch and slides it into her backpack, packed tightly and sealed, with a little note tucked atop it (the kanji “love”, they were steadily learning Japanese so she could gain it, and he would not lose it). Then, he stuffs in the folders and coloring books and two packs of crayons-- Izumi had insisted upon two because “one might break,Otou-san” and she really has always been the wisest of the two. This is about the time Izumi comes running in, her little mary janes already strapped on tightly. She is always more prepared than he is, frankly. 

“Otou-san! Do you think my teacher will care if I bring my turtle?” She holds the little stuffed animal up to his face, its unrelenting, beady eyes glaring up at him like it wished death upon him. He shivers. He always hated inanimate objects. 

“I don’t think he would mind, little one. But are you sure? You’ll have to share the turtle with your new friends.” he reminds her, his voice soft like summer rain. Izumi scoffs, then looks at the turtle with a pout. She seems to be truly weighing the pros and cons of this situation, just like her father, when the insistent alarm starts to ring from his pants pocket. Zuko jumps back, shuts the alarm off as quickly as he can, and checks the time. He winces, forces himself not to curse in front of precious ears, and turns to grab her eggs from off the stove. 

\--

Henry, the turtle, stays home that day. Izumi claims it's because she needs both hands to hold her eggs, and because her Mulan backpack is “extra heavier” than normal, but Zuko thinks it's just because Izumi wants to hold his hand while they walk. He is lucky to be able to walk her to school now, he had been worried they might not make it in time. Getting her used to this schedule has been a process already, but he did not expect so many hiccups on the day of. He thinks tomorrow will be better, he and Izumi are learning this whole school thing, after all. 

“What’s your teacher’s name, dumpling?” Zuko asks. It is about the thirtieth question he has asked today, and she seems to finally be growing irritated with him. He is carrying her breakfast bento box in one hand, and her hand in the other, laughing as she drags her feet and hits her knees with her heavy water bottle. She is too cute, and he honestly considers keeping her at home just so he does not have to part with moments like this. 

“Otou-san, you’re taking me to school. I pinky promise I already knowed it super-duper well! And you’ll take me to class! It's not that important.” Izumi prattles, shaking her water bottle so that the glitter moves around in it. 

“I can’t walk you to your classroom everyday, ‘Zumi. And I can’t tell you your teacher’s name once you are in class, silly little goose.” Zuko looks at her seriously. Maybe it’s a bit overkill, maybe he has asked to hear her classroom number and her lunch number three separate times already, and maybe she is getting just a bit grumpy. They both shared one thing in common, and that was being hot-headed.

“Mister… Tunnn… er….” Izumi’s face flustered, colored as pink as a peach.

“Mr. Tuvak.” Zuko says kindly, swinging their hands as they walk.

“Mr. Tuvak! That’s what I was going to say!” Izumi chirps happily, tilting her head up to look at her father. She has already lost one of her front teeth, and every time she gives him that crooked grin it melts his heart a little bit. 

He adjusts her tilted glasses and as they stop in front of her school, he squats right down to her height. “Mr. Tuvak is your friend, okay? You go to him for whatever you need, and he’ll call me, or Baba. I might not be there with you, but I will always be here _for_ you, dumpling. You’re going to make so many friends, and I’ll be waiting right outside the apartment when you get off the bus, ready to hear every story you have to tell me, okay?” He holds out both her hands, and she takes his in return. She nods, her face contorting into a serious, focused expression. She looks ready to fight wars, ready to face bears, and ready to absolutely conquer kindergarten. He could never be more proud than he is right now. 

Zuko suddenly feels terrible for leaving his daughter here, for making her go to school at all. It seems so much easier for all the other parents to drop the kids off at the door and run-- but he does not want her to feel abandoned, hopeless. That is the last thing he wants her to feel-- and as she looks at him, her lip trembling now as she realizes this is really _it_ , he wants to make sure she knows he loves her. 

(Sometimes we try to make up for what we desperately wanted as children ourselves.)

“Mulan would never be scared of kindergarten. She is even stronger than me,” He adjusts her backpack straps as he speaks, pinches one of her chubby cheeks. 

“So I won’t be scared.” Izumi sniffles, and Zuko frowns, reaching out to softly wipe a tear away with his calloused thumb. 

“Nothing to be scared of, darling. You already have a friend waiting for you.”

Izumi nods, takes a big deep breath, and looks at her father with that similar determination from before. She is hardheaded, but she has the best heart. It’s moments like these he can see a little bit of her mother in her. Zuko had always admired her too. 

“Make sure to eat lunch, Baba said to remind you.” Izumi’s words cut through his thoughts, and he notices her little eyes are filled with tears now. It seems to him that she is finding this whole separation from Otou-san to be a little more difficult than she had previously been letting on. She has already cried though, so she keeps her composure the best she can, like the brave little girl he knew she could be.

“I’ll eat at the same time with you, so it’s like I am right there with you.” Zuko leans in, and nuzzles his nose against hers. Butterfly kisses always make her giggle. Izumi throws her arms around Zuko and squeezes him tight, before following the other kids into the funnel of traffic, repeating “1015” under her breath, as she looks up at the classroom numbers as they pass. 

Zuko takes a deep breath. He watches his light, his little Izumi, waddle into kindergarten with her Mulan backpack and her shiny new pink mary janes and he stops himself from running in after her. He’ll see her at three-- but that feels lightyears away. 

\--

“Hey! Happy first day!” Sokka Tuvak is a first year kindergarten teacher, with a lot of spunk and a whole lot of excitement for the first day of school. He has been preparing for this day for weeks-- he and Katara had sat shoulder to shoulder laminating his decor and picking out the comfiest couch for his little friends to sit on, even going so far as to pick out the best swivel chair a teacher’s salary could buy so he could scoot across the classroom in true fun teacher fashion. He was going all out-- and no one had even tried to stop him. His classroom was lavishly decorated, his outfits were laid out and accessorized to perfection. These kids were going to love him, he was determined they would. 

He had woken up bright and early, braided up his wolftail and let Katara make sure it was tightly secured for the day ahead, he was all ready to make his kids the happiest they could be, and to have the best day ahead. Kindergarten was a scary thing-- and he was determined to be the kind hearted bridge between home life and school life. 

He had been greeting students in the hallway, waving them down and directing them towards other teacher’s classrooms. Most students had been nervous, but excited, and they had awkwardly waddled up to him to tug on his arm and ask where their rooms were. This one in particular though, he could seem was going to be a harder case to handle. She was little, with big brown eyes and two pigtails, clutching her Mulan backpack like her life depended on it. Her eyes were rimmed red, and she kept looking back towards the doors, like she was ready to sprint the next time they opened. He was worried; she was small, had to be one of the kindergartners, and she looked sad. He had to save the day, or do the best that he could to make it a little better.

As he approaches, adjusting his nametag a bit awkwardly-- this is his first time with conflict-resolution of a kindergartner since his student teaching, after all. She is lost without someone to guide her, and it makes his heart ache, a duckling without a goose to waddle after. It reminds him of Katara when he moved up a grade level, and left her at the old elementary school. She had sobbed all the way into town and begged that he stay at school with her. Nowadays he reminds her and she gives him a swift kick in the back of the legs for ever uttering those words, but it was good to reminisce on. 

“Well hello, little duckling.” He immediately kneels down to her height, his colorful button-up getting all wrinkled already. It was fine though-- it wasn’t like the kids really cared at all about how he dressed, looked, acted. Most of them just wanted a friend, or a teacher. He could do both pretty well. “Who’s the teacher lucky enough to have Mulan’s best friend in their class, hm?” He asks, trying to seem as chipper and helpful as he could. She looked sad, and frankly, it broke his heart. He knew how hard it was for some of these kindergartners, but something about the look on her face, all broken and sniffly, seemed even worse than the others. Sokka wanted to scoop her up and carry her back to her parents himself. 

“M- M…” Izumi scowls, upset now that she has not gotten the name right, after promising Otou-san so vehemently that she should _do_ it. Sniffling, she looks up at him, wiping her little eyes. He inhales, sharp, and Sokka waits patiently, even though his legs are on fire. He really misses his swivel chair, right about now. It was like adult heelies. (He makes a mental note to tell Teo he’d like heelies for Christmas.)

“Mr. Tuvak. He- He’s my teacher. My Chichi says he is supposed to be my friend too.” She looks up at him nervously, her glasses all crooked on her tiny little nose. She sounded all mature when she called him that, she thinks. Only big kids called their father’s Chichi. She was trying very hard to prove she was a big kid. Meanwhile, Sokka is processing this information. It takes him a minute to realize _he_ is Mr. Tuvak. 

“Oh,” he gasps, “my god. You wouldn’t believe this. I really don't think you will.” He leans in closer to her, her little brown eyes swirled with gold. “But I _am_ Mr. Tuvak!” He beams at her, his eyes crinkling like they always do when he smiles. She grins at him, and he realizes she has the faintest dimple on her right cheek. 

“And lucky for you, I’m looking for friends.” Sokka says, holding his hand down towards her. She takes it immediately, and he guides her towards his classroom, where a few other students have lined up. “My friends!” He exclaims, his face as bright as the sun. This is it, what he has spent months of his life waiting for, what he has prepared all summer for. A chance to make these kids smile, teach them a few things, and make school a little less scary.

(He hopes he can do at least two out of those three things.) 

“Meet my new friend. What’s your name, duckling?” He looks down at Izumi, and she thinks school can’t be so bad, not when Otou-san guaranteed the best teacher here would be her best friend. 

“I’m Izumi!” She murmurs, trying to hide behind his leg. She was still a shy one, but they had all year to work on that. At least she was not in tears, or begging to be taken back to her father? He could only assume that’s who she was referring to. He ruffles her hair, and her little whispies flutter around her face. It seems to make her giggle and look a little more confident. There is a chorus of hellos from the other students. Sokka feels pretty confident in the rest of the day, now. 

“Alright, folks. Izumi, folks. folks, Izumi.” He motions between the little girl clinging to his leg, and to the smiling faces that surround him. They’re barely to his hip in height, and so damn cute. He thinks for a moment that he has the absolute best job in the world, and nothing can make this day bad-- not when things seem to be going well so far.

“Okay! Everyone toss your bags at your desks. Then meet me on the carpet! We’ve got a lot of names to learn!” He opens the classroom door and switches on the light, letting the hoard of children scurry in. Izumi remains clinging to his leg, looking up at him nervously. She sniffles, wipes her eyes, and gets ready to attack the day.

“Hey,” He tells her, offering her his pinky to hold. She takes it almost immediately, “you can sit next to me on the carpet, okay? Your Chichi was right, we are going to have an awesome year together.” As he guides her into the classroom and shuts the door, he takes a deep breath. He is going to be a kickass teacher. And he is going to make this little girl smile by the end of the day.

Izumi beams, and runs towards her desk. And that was the day Sokka met his best friend. 

Things were going arguably better than he expected. 

He had gone through his lesson plan, the group games they played seemed to be a hit, and he had even gotten that loud giggle out of Izumi like he had desperately wanted to. They’d practiced tying their shoes when someone didn’t know how, and they had learned how to line up, sit back down, and how to follow Mr. Tuvak to and from the lunchroom with ease. A couple of the kids were better at getting to know each other than others, but Izumi was very polite, and she had offered to sit next to her equally as quiet deskmate at lunch that day. Everyone had “ooh”ed and “ahh”ed at her bento box, and a few kids had a similarly looking contraption. Sokka had laughed when he heard her response to their statements. She had proclaimed quite loudly, “No! My dad made this and he is better than all your dads!” She was really selling this guy, and Sokka wanted to meet him just to see what all the fuss was about. If he was anything like Izumi claimed, he must be God herself.

Then they’d gone to the art room, Izumi reluctant to leave Sokka’s side when she noticed he was not also attending the art lessons for that day. He had laughed, and pinky promised that he would not leave her with this strange teacher all day. He kept that promise-- he always kept a promise. 

When he had picked them up and walked them to the gym, Izumi had been excitedly explaining how the color wheel worked, looking up at him with big brown eyes. Her glasses were finally on right for the first time today, and her prescription must be strong, because they were extra magnified behind those spectacles. Her favorite color was yellow, because it reminded her of the ducks outside her grandmother’s home, she said. In that short walk, Sokka learned that Otou-san was what she called her Chichi, but Sokka could call him dad-- or Zuko, for short (which was not any shorter but he thought it was cute.) He also learned that Baba was her grandmother, who lived in the BIG city, which he assumed to be Winnipeg. She showed him her little note her dad had given her, and she had tucked it in her pocket so she could practice drawing it at recess. He wasn’t necessarily allowed to have favorites, but Izumi was slowly climbing the list to the best student he could have ever dreamed of having. 

When he dropped them all off, he had waved goodbye and Izumi was confident enough in him to not need a promise that he would return. Sokka had already promised, after all, and he had kept it. 

So things seemed to be going a little too well. He did not know when, but he sensed somehow, some way, something was going to fuck up. He could not have a seamless first day. That was against the kindergarten teacher laws, honestly, and against Sokka’s moral code. Somehow, some way, something was going to happen. 

And it did. 

He had taken them out to recess, a forty-five minute playtime with all the opportunities to run about, trade Pokemon cards, and need band aids. Luckily Sokka kept a first aid kit in his bag at all times, because he is always over-prepared. But today, luck seemed to not be on some of his little friends’ sides. Yun and Seo, two friends who really seemed to love bugs, had a bug catching kit just a few steps from him. They seemed to either be trying to capture grasshoppers or flies, he could not really tell. One had nearly jumped on him, so they didn’t seem to be having any luck with that. Izumi was nowhere to be seen, but there seemed to be a crowd of kids beneath the slide, playing with the built in kitchen setup. They liked to play house down there, so he kept an eye on it, but he did not immediately jump the gun and run over there. He kind of regrets not doing that, in the grand scheme of today.

Teo, the teacher who also had the same block as him and who had keener eyes, noticed it first, “Hey, Sokka.”

He wheeled himself closer to the bench Sokka was currently sitting on. Sokka had a notebook propped up on one knee as he wrote out a lesson plan for the sub for next month— some trip to see Gran Gran and his dad. Sokka hummed, looking back at his friend with a raised eyebrow. His reading glasses were propped on his nose, pencil tucked into the wolftail. He was starting to need the glasses more often because of his sheer determination to never wear them ever. He pockets the glasses and looks back at the kids, just as Teo continues: “It looks like something’s going down over there. You mind checking? Last time I got gravel caught in my wheel.” He makes a face, and Sokka nods understandingly, before standing. 

Something definitely is going down over there. 

Something definitely not good. 

The little kitchen is less crowded with kids now, and instead two boys are laughing hysterically, kicking dirt. When Sokka comes approaching kindly, with a, “Hey, friends,” falling off his lips, he is met with two sets of wide eyes, before they run away, as if they’re not going to get caught. They look guilty, at the very least. Perhaps they’ve already realized what they have done that’s wrong. They’re nervous, he knows, but running nonetheless. Turns out Teo’s upper arm strength is faster, because he is already stopping them and steering them towards the bench to have a talk, leaving Sokka with a bit of a mess in his wake. 

Izumi. 

Her little paper is ripped up, the kanji torn into pieces in her hands. Her glasses are pushed far up her nose, pinching her little cheeks. She has big, heavy tears hanging from her eyes, and they dribble down her porcelain cheeks. She looks more than upset. Heartbroken. Distraught. Pained. She’s whimpering for her father, and his heart breaks. 

“Hey, duckling.” He sits down in front of her, tilting his head to one side in concern. She lets out a short sob, but does not offer much more of a response than that. She looks crushed. He knows they must’ve been saying something, because there’s no way a little laughing and kicking up gravel can do all this. He scans her knees for any scrapes, and finds a tiny little one on her left, all scratched up. He thinks they need to reconsider the rocks on the playground thing. It’s pretty standard but pretty ridiculous. Both on his knees and the kiddos. “C’mon with me. Let’s get your knee cleaned up, okay? I _thiiiiiiink_ I have a Mulan band aid. I have been saving it for myself, but I could pass it off to you.” He stands up, and she reaches for him, tears in her eyes and glossing down her cheeks. He helps her up, and does not let go of her hand the whole time. 

As soon as she is sitting, the boys and the principal are long gone, and Sokka starts cleaning the injury as Teo watches over the playground. Izumi clutches her hands in her lap, watching as Sokka dabs it with alcohol and plasters on the bandage, smiling just a little. He had not had a Mulan bandage, but Mushu would do. 

“ _Ohhhh-kay_ , ‘Zumi. We gotta have a little talk.” Sokka moves from his spot kneeling to sit at her side, putting away his bandaids and notebook to look at her. He props his foot up, and looks down, his head tilted towards her. “What happened with those boys?”

Izumi stills for a second, but she remembers what Zuko had told her. There was one person here that was Zuko Approved, that would watch over her should anything happen. She sighed, her shoulders raising like Atlas holding up the world. “Pushed me down. Made fun of me… for my glasses.” She pushes up the rims awkwardly, kicking her legs.

“They said my note was funny looking. And made fun of it.” The tears are bubbling up again, and they come back down her cheeks like a flood, a sniffle coming loudly. He searches in his bag for a tissue for her, and uses it to wipe her little cheeks, giving it to her afterwards. She holds it very tightly, trembling with the effort. 

“Can I show you something, ‘Zumi?” Sokka asks kindly. His face swirls with concern, but he does not jump to try and make her feel better by distracting her. They are going to address this head on. He can tell this little girl walked into his classroom with confidence. He wants her to leave it with heaps more. Izumi nods at his question, looking at him curiously. Sokka grins, and pulls from his pocket his reading glasses.

He takes a minute to rub the fingerprints off it, and then settles them on the tip of his nose, looking at her from the glass on the wire rimmed spectacles. He scrunches his nose to move the glasses up, and it makes her giggle, even through the tears. “These are my glasses. I didn’t have glasses when I was little, like you. But as I got older, I needed them to read and to see better. I don’t wear them all the time, but I still wear them. Do you think my glasses are funny looking?” 

Izumi gasps, like the sheer idea that someone could think Sokka’s glasses were not the best thing in the world was a cardinal sin. “No! I think you look very handsome, Mr. Tuvak!” She sniffles up her tears, dabbing away at her reddened cheeks with her tissue.

“I think yours make you look very pretty, Izumi. You wouldn’t be Izumi without them.” He smiles down at her, and pushes his glasses up his nose. Solidarity. 

“Why don’t you sit with me for a bit longer? Where did you get your glasses? I think I want my next pair to be just like yours.” Sokka smiles, and as he listens to her explain, he searches in his notes for her father’s name amongst his students’ rosters. _Zuko Kaneko, father._ He is the only name listed. He sends him a quick email about a meeting after school. The answer is almost instantaneous: _‘I’ll be there, make sure she doesn’t get on the bus for me? Thank you for being there for her.’_ It’s a short, pleasant message, but Sokka feels conviction between those words. If all that Izumi says is true, Zuko is the best dad.

And he has got to be worried sick. 

\--

Zuko is worried sick. 

Like, clean the entire house instead of getting on his conference call sick. Like, skipping coffee with Aang sick. Like, he is at the school early for this appointment sick. Okay, it is only ten minutes, and there are already other parents there, but he feels silly. He just wants to see his little girl, make sure she is okay, pick her up and check all her fingers and toes and insure that she is actually, genuinely alright. He knew a bit about what happened-- getting picked on, needing a bandage-- but he did not know how well Izumi was doing, or if she was _okay--_

“Mr. Kaneko?” A distant voice calls, and Zuko looks up from chewing on his thumb and mindlessly scrolling to find the source of the voice.

“Otou-san!” He is suddenly crashed into, stumbling backwards as his daughter’s arms wrap around his knees. He laughs, caught off guard by her sudden closeness. He is relieved that she is happy enough to run to him, though, happy enough to hold onto him. He leans down and picks his daughter up, his face as bright as can be. He looks like he has stars floating in his eyes. 

Speaking of his eyes, _fuck._ Sokka is a little screwed. He has the most beautiful brown eyes he has ever seen. They float with gold around the corners and shimmer at the edges and one of them is milky white. His face is scarred, pulling his skin down and creeping up into his hairline. Somehow, his eye seems even more beautiful. He looks like a sculpture, like Donatello had tenderly sculpted each lash. His hair is long, shoulder length and brushed out, pulled into a half pony. He thinks the best thing about him is how he reacts to seeing his daughter, picking her up and cuddling her tightly. It is not often he sees parents so devoted to their children. 

Zuko looks up, just as Sokka’s ponderings end. One could say they had pretty similar reactions to their first sighting, but Zuko was a little more… overt with his. _Fuck_ . In the weeks of teaching Izumi all about school, her teacher, her lunch number, her classroom and _all_ of the in between, he did not anticipate this. Mr. Tuvak was young. He was well built and tall, with a strong nose and lips that pulled perfectly across his face, beaming as if they lit the stars in the sky. His eyes were dark, set deep and dipping downward into his cheeks, crinkling when he smiled. Zuko curiously felt an urge to be the one to give him that smile, and though he was no good at jokes, he felt himself capable of the job.

“Just Zuko is fine.” He says, reaching his hand out towards him. Izumi still has her arms wrapped around her father’s throat, sitting on his hip.

“Oh? Izumi told me I was allowed to call you Chichi.” _Shit, that’s like, not professional at all, Sokka, you’re going to get yourself--_

A laugh, tickled and pink, trickles out of Zuko. Zuko, the guy in all black with a scar carved into his cheek like a Bond villain, Zuko, who is really pretty, Zuko who’s daughter is the best in his class, Zuko who is _not_ wearing a wedding band--

“She called me that? She must’ve really wanted to impress you with her grammar skills.” Zuko peaks over at his daughter, who is now hiding her face against her father’s shoulder. “Zuko is fine. I don’t think I could handle another person screaming ‘dad’ at me anytime I walked into the room.”

It’s Sokka’s turn to laugh, and he reaches out to take Zuko’s hand in his own. He shakes it, but he cannot stop thinking about how soft Zuko’s hand is in his (and Zuko cannot stop thinking about the firmness of his shake, or the precious color block button up he has rolled up to his elbows.)

“Then you can call me Sokka. I _relish_ in a chance for another adult to call me by my name.” Sokka offers, and he motions him towards the doors. “It won’t be long, I promise. I just wanted a chance to talk to you about what happened, what’s being done, that sort of thing. It… would be kind of big for her to come home and tell you about her first day, and to leave you hanging on what’s being done to rectify this situation.” He says as he walks, stopping letting Zuko into his classroom door. Zuko makes a noise in agreement, focused mostly on Sokka as he walks. He holds his head so high, and he looks so put together. He kind of wants to reach his hand up and brush down his flyaways— _Zuko, that is your daughter’s teacher._ Yeah. He really didn’t anticipate this one. As they enter the classroom, Izumi immediately starts pointing to her desk, and Zuko lets her down so she can go finish the crayon drawing she still had out from the end of class.

“Was she okay?” Zuko asks, leaning on one of the student’s desks. He was well past his overprotective stage of this situation. He just wants to make sure it didn’t scar his daughter for life or something. Sokka sits on his own, propping his foot up. 

“Oh, yeah. A little scuffed up from falling in the gravel, but we got her a bandage and she cheered up. I talked to her-- I think she just needed a little reassurance.” Sokka reassures. “The boys had a talk with their teacher, Teo. I think it’s important now to explain why it’s wrong. They’ll be apologizing, and I promise, I’m watching out for her.”

For some reason, Zuko trusts him.

“I don’t want them punished, or anything.” Zuko says. “My ‘Zumi is tough. I was mostly worried about her. I would rather them learn from the mistake, than feel ganged up on, for lack of a better word.” 

Sokka lets out a relieved sigh, nodding. “Yeah, I was hoping you’d say that. They had a talk with the principal. They’ll be writing sentences, all that old school sort of jazz. Nothing extreme, and Teo and I plan to get them to apologize. They need to learn kindness, not fear of adults.” 

Zuko nods, fiddles with one of his rings. It’s curious how Sokka notices each ring dots each finger, but never a wedding band. He watches as Zuko twists, looking at how Izumi carefully opens her crayon box, uses the little pencil sharpener on the back to properly sharpen them. She is so gentle, deliberate with each moment she takes. In that regard, he thinks he sees a lot of Zuko in her, now. Zuko makes the same movements as he adjusts his jacket, crosses one leg beneath his other as he sits on the desk. He is elegant, slow. Izumi is more fumbly. They have the expressions, especially this one now. Content. 

“And she was fine,” Sokka continues, clearing his throat. He has to get back on track or Katara will be calling him all worried about what is taking him so long. “We had a talk about how beautiful her glasses are. And how she matches me.” He pats his glasses in his front pocket. 

Zuko’s eyes dart to his chest pocket, and his heart flutters a bit. He is not sure why. 

“She’s really reserved. I-- I’m to blame for that, of course. I never go out or _do_ anything.” Zuko snorts-- well, it’s more like a brush of air through his nostrils, but it’s still cute. It makes the stray pieces of his hair flutter on his cheeks. “It’s important to me that she feels confident though, so thank you for that.” His eyes look gold in the fluorescents, glimmering. Sokka has always loved brown eyes, but something about how there seem to be sparkles caught in the irises. He feels like Izumi after art today, fascinated by colors. He could learn a lot from Izumi, he thinks.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her being shy.” Sokka smiles. “She’s really a joy, she loves learning, and she can already read like, really well.” He takes a peak over at Izumi, who is sticking her tongue out as she colors a picture. Always in the lines, a perfectionist. He wonders if Zuko is like that too.

_But, if you want to rectify that ‘never going out’ thing, there’s a coffee shop just steps from here…_

Sokka’s cheeks reddened, and he clears his throat again Fuck, look cool. Do something, you idiot. 

“She talks about you a lot. I think she really looks up to you,” He blurts out instead. Which pointedly does not make him look very cool. “I mean, I would talk about you a lot too. If you are as cool as she thinks.”

 _Please, give me a chance to find out,_ Sokka thinks.

Zuko blushes, shrugs his shoulders. “I am not much to talk about, but she is my best friend.” 

“Mr. Tuvak has glasses too,” Izumi barrels into the conversation, holding two little coloring pages. She hands one to her father, gentle as ever, and then rushes around the desk to Sokka. She is grinning, shyly hiding the paper behind her back. “And he told us about his sister! Can I have a sister, Otou-san?” 

Sokka snorts, just as Izumi proudly holds up a drawing for him. “For me!” He sounds ecstatic, and he takes the drawing and a roll of tape and tells Izumi to pick the best place to hang it for him. “It is my very first drawing I have ever been given.” 

That makes Zuko’s heart do a few flip flops, grow three sizes, however you want to put it. He’s still ignoring the sister comment for as long as he can. 

As Izumi runs off, he shifts a bit closer, his head tilting to the side. “I get the feeling I will be getting a mouthful about how cool you are, too.” 

“Perhaps we are both cool, then.” Sokka winks, because of course he does, “Maybe it’s a sign.” 

Zuko’s eyes widen, and he feels like his entire world is spinning. He just has to play it cool. His daughter’s kindergarten teacher is totally flirting with him, he just has to play it off, it’ll be fine, he totally is not also interested and staring at how Sokka’s hands move to fold up his sleeve, or how his lips curl just right so that they lift the skin beneath his eye and make them crinkle when he smiles.

“Maybe,” Zuko echoes pathetically, his cheeks flushing. He bites his lip, directing his attention back at Izumi. “I think she has you fooled, though.”

“Maybe she does.” Sokka shrugs casually, jumps off his desk to grab his bag. “I doubt it. She is very honest.” He shoves his keys and his name tag back into the backpack, finding the cords for his computer, trying to look casual as he fumbles through putting his stuff away. 

“You know,” he looks back over his shoulder. “I could find out for myself.”

On the way home from that meeting, Izumi told Zuko all about the day she had. How Mr. Tuvak had sat them all around and read a story, how they’d watched an episode of The Magic Schoolbus during science time, about how she had her very own cubby with her name on it. It all came out like a flood, and Zuko hummed along. He was listening, at least, it felt like he was listening. But it felt like he was underwater too, blood rushing to his head every time he thought of Sokka, of his smile lines and dusting of freckles on his cheeks. Of how he had helped his daughter in a dark moment of her life, of how he had wanted to build her up. It felt like a record scratch, a stalling disk, the second the engine of a car flips. The world had been at a standstill the moment Sokka’s fingers had fallen into his, and for some reason, he was okay if it did not start spinning again. 

The next few weeks were pretty eventful. What had started as a quick text at the end of their meeting, informing Sokka that Izumi had, in fact, talked about him the entire walk home. Sokka’s reply had not been immediate, but it had been a sweet thirty minutes after Zuko’s, and then they’d fallen into a pretty consistent rhythm. Sometimes Sokka would be waiting with Izumi on the days it would rain, and Zuko would pick her up with a Minnie Mouse umbrella in hand and his own “boring” (as Sokka called it) umbrella in the other. Sometimes Aang would come over and Zuko would leave the two of them alone to do whatever Aang considered appropriate babysitter behavior-- once he had walked in to the two of them doing yoga and, honestly, whatever gets her active at this point-- while he went on dates. 

They had started out as quiet coffee shop moments, tucked in corners while Sokka recounted his day and laughed at the antics of his children, while Zuko admired how he smiled, or how his tongue would dip out between his lips to swipe across his bottom lip, or how he talked with his hands. Sokka would ask about him, and Zuko would snort and speak about his boring office job, which led into talks of his dad, and the degree he never wanted. Sokka learned a lot about him in those moments, and a lot about Izumi, too. He learned about Mai, Izumi’s mother. About how she and Zuko just were not meant to be-- “I mean, finding out one of you is gay and the other is a lesbian can do a lot to your longterm relationship”-- and how Mai, as lovely and wonderful as a mother Zuko thought she could be, just was _not_ interested. 

“I had always wanted to be a dad, though.” Zuko says thoughtfully, one night as he explains this, swirling the wine in his glass. He looks pretty in this light, Sokka decides, the prettiest he has ever looked. Zuko, who he knew did kendo and could absolutely _annihilate_ his ass, but pretty nonetheless. “She knew that.”

He snorts, shoulders shaking, and he says, “So we had Izumi. Why not, you know? She always said she’d be my surrogate anyway. It just worked. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing, but… Izumi was a decision. The best I had ever made.” 

Mai lived in Hong Kong, now. She went to some college Zuko couldn’t remember the name of, because she was wicked smart. She visited Izumi, sometimes, but she was just an aunt, to her. “Mai never really wanted kids,” Zuko said. “And I respected that. Izumi knows that’s her mom, but… I don’t think she is really bothered by it. I’m glad we were honest with her. When my mom left my dad it was hard. I guess I was older, closer to her.” 

Sokka learned more than just Izumi, though. He learned that Zuko grew up in Japan, somewhere outside of Tokyo, where his dad worked. He was a CEO of a major company, but Zuko didn’t like talking about him too much. He knew there had to be a reason for that. He knew that Zuko came to Canada with his uncle when he was sixteen, where he worked in his tea shop. He went to Manitoba for university and settled in Winnipeg. He didn’t hate his job, because he got to see Izumi. All these things were the little building blocks that built Zuko up, made Sokka lean in to learn more. He knew Zuko liked the color yellow, he had not aways, but it was Izumi’s favorite, so it was his favorite. He knew Zuko liked to have his hand held, and that he couldn’t see well at night with his left eye, so he didn’t mind if Sokka walked him home. He knew a lot of things, now.

Zuko knew things too. He knew Sokka and his sister had moved to Winnipeg from Iqaluit. They’d both gone to college, where Sokka studied to become an educator. He had intended to move back to Iqaluit, to live with his fathers and teach at the school in town, but he had his sister to think about, and he didn’t want to leave her here all alone, without a familiar face.

“Good thing too,” He had said then. It was well past the time Zuko had been counting the dates, certainly in the double digits now. Sokka was smiling, his head tilted to the side, “I got to meet you. And ‘Zumi, of course.” 

Zuko learned that Sokka really liked sushi, and he really liked to take Zuko to eat it. He learned that Sokka could fish, and that he was pretty skilled at it. He learned that Sokka had a dog, a big husky who gave kisses to everyone he met. He had rescued the puppy, and had been unable to part with it.

He, too, learned that Sokka liked to be touched, liked when someone was close by. He liked when they took quiet walks too, and never took him to a bar or club. He liked the real conversations, the ones kept beneath the setting sun. He liked swinging their hands, liked driving his car, liked giving Zuko kisses through the window as he dashed up to his apartment complex. He _really_ liked Tears for Fears. That memory was Zuko’s favorite, it stuck out like a thumb, a shining lighthouse on the beginnings of their relationship:

“Zuko,” He had gasped, then, turning the radio up. Took his hands off the wheel, much to Zuko. sudden fear. He had drummed, complete with the loud “Skkk-doosh! Do-dodo-dodo!” Zuko, eyes wide and trying to take it all in, watched as Sokka’s head started to bob, and he beat the rhythm on the steering wheel of his old, rickety car. 

“High time, we made a stand, shook up the views of the common man,” Sokka sang, his head tossed back. His hair was loose tonight, shimmering and cupping his cheekbones perfectly. When Zuko did not immediately begin to start singing along, Sokka gaped like a dead fish, and he had shouted, “My dad _loves_ this song!”

The windows had been down, the city lights whipping past as he pressed down on the excelerator. “Goddamnit! I _am_ my dad!” He had tossed his head back, laughing wildly. Zuko had noticed then, the way his nose crinkled, so much so that some of his freckles scrunched, disappeared within the folds of his face. He reached over and took his hand, pressing his own on top of the one holding to the gearshift. Sokka’s skin was a galaxy of color, purple and yellow and blue and pink, the signs and lights of the city reflecting across his clear skin. 

For that moment, that frozen second in time, Zuko felt alive. He felt free. He didn’t think he was terribly old, he didn’t think of cleaning the kitchen at home, or joining his meeting tomorrow morning, he just looked at Sokka. Sokka, who was responsible for so much, for children’s lives, for fuck’s sake, letting go. Sokka feeling. Sokka being. Sokka. He laughs, shuts his eyes, and rests his head back on the headrest. The air flushes his cheeks, it makes his chest feel like it will burst, fluttered with butterflies. Sokka made him feel like a car ride to see the stars was a rollercoaster. Zuko’s limbs felt all tingly, and he felt alive. 

For the first time in a long time, he felt the puzzle pieces of his heart come back together. 

“And I believe in looooooove power!” Sokka sang, as the song floated out of their little bubble, out onto the streets of Winnipeg. He grasped Zuko’s hand in return, and Zuko’s heart leapt in his throat.

He had thought then, like he does now, that perhaps he believes in love power, too. 

Things had now progressed past the car rides and dates, now, and sneaking Sokka into the apartment had become the regular. Zuko did not have a precise reason as to why he kept this part of his life hidden, tucked away like a happy little accident. Sokka felt like he was Zuko’s, when they were alone. He wasn’t jealous of Izumi, he just did not feel like sharing. He just wanted to remain here, with him, in the quiet world that seemed to consist of just the two of them.

Today, that bubble was being threatened to pop. Sokka was tucked in Zuko’s bed, he had just showered and had his hair tucked up in a towel. Zuko was in the other room, tucking Izumi into the bed. She had a rough day today. She was having a harder time going to sleep at night. Bad dreams, Zuko had told him. She usually went to sleep quickly at naptime, he wasn’t so sure why she was having such a hard time.

Zuko stepped back into the bedroom, sighing loudly. He used the ponytail holder to pull back his shoulder length hair, moving slowly into the bedroom. 

“You look like you had a fun day.” Sokka is grinning. He and Teo had a workday today, meeting upon meeting with other teachers for hours. He had been looking forward to this, for the chance to fall asleep on Zuko’s unsurprisingly comfortable sheets. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Zuko groans, dropping himself down on the sheets next to him. Sokka’s annoyingly good at taking care of kids, and sometimes his shiteating grin gets the better of Zuko. 

He turns towards Sokka, scar side facing up. Sokka twists towards him too, his hand coming up to touch Zuko’s cheek. This was something he never asked about. Not because he thought Zuko wouldn’t tell him, but he knew it made him feel self conscious when it was pointed out. 

“Such a crude mouth on you, pretty boy.” Sokka jokes, pulls the other boy closer to him. “Is that my sweater?”

“I really don’t think that is any of your business.” Zuko responds, just as snarky in tone. He turns his head to press a kiss against Sokka’s palm. Sokka snorts, grabs him by the waist and leans into the crook of his neck, planting kisses against his ear. Sokka likes to give him a little extra attention when he looks this upset, all flustered and overwhelmed. He has learned that Zuko spends too much of his life living it for other people. He wants to present him with a little love and care too.

“It’s not, you are right.” It’s Sokka’s hockey sweater, and it is so obviously Sokka’s. It’s too long on Zuko’s short torso. “How dare I question my love stealing my clothes! I am aghast at the thought,” He drones on, pushing Zuko into the pillows. His wet towel falls onto Zuko’s cheeks, and Zuko makes a noise, snorting. Sokka has learned he snort laughs when he is most happy. 

Zuko tugs the wet towel off his head and drops it to the side, off the bed. “No wet towels on my good silk pillowcases.” He tells the man who uses three-in-one shampoo, body wash, and conditioner. 

He wraps his arms around Sokka’s shoulders, gripping the white t-shirt he wears tightly. Sokka leans over him, grinning down at him. “Pretty boy is changing the subject,” he notes out loud, leaning his head down to press more kisses to Zuko’s parted lips. That quiets Zuko quickly.

For a while, the quiet stays intact, the gentle brush of kisses, the sharing of stories that happens only when the light is dim. Sokka traces the scar with kisses, punctuates sentences with the touch of his lips, presses so close that their breaths mingle, two people, so close, that comfort washes them both. This was his Sokka, the one that grew quiet and told him secrets, who whispered revelations to make him laugh, who slotted their hands together so perfectly one would feel it a shame to break them apart. 

Sokka had pressed himself against Zuko’s shoulder now, curled behind his back. They were both too old to laugh to last too long in a bed awake, the aches in their bones too pronounced at the end of the day. It was quieter, now. Zuko liked it when they grew quiet, when they felt comfortable enough to cuddle close to one another. He always felt like he slept sounder when Sokka was curled up next to him. He reaches over, much to Sokka’s dismay, and switches the lamp off. He lays back, as Sokka buries his face against his sternum.

He thinks they both manage to fall asleep for at least an hour, the quiet purr of Momo making his home in Zuko’s hair, Druk tucked under their blankets because he gets cold. It is utter perfection. It is the pinnacle of sleep. He could think of nothing better. His daughter apparently thinks not. 

“Otou-san!” Izumi busts through the door, tears in her big brown eyes. “There’s a-- ah!” She screams, a second figure in the dark, hovering next to her father. A stranger, in this light!

“Otou-san! You have a monster too!” 

Zuko sits up, startled and bleary eyed. It always takes his eyes a few seconds to adjust, squinting in the light. “Huh?” He looks to his side, to Sokka’s worried expression shadowed in the darkness. 

Izumi runs into the dark room, tripping over her own feet. Zuko has to jump forward, grabbing his daughter by the waist. She is wailing, grabbing onto her father tightly. _She doesn’t have her glasses,_ Zuko mouths to him, reaching over to switch on the lights.

“Sweet, brave Izumi.” Zuko coos, rocks her back and forth as the light flickers on. He pulls her head back from where it has burrowed against his skin, wiping away her tears. 

“It’s just me, duckling.” Sokka says softly, leaning his head on Zuko’s shoulder. It’s close enough that Izumi can see her teacher’s face, and Sokka can see the shock that crosses her little expression.

“You’re--” A hiccup, followed by Zuko patting her back comfortingly. “-- having a sleepover party without me? W- With m-my favorite teacher?” 

“Sok-- Mr. Tuvak is your only teacher, ‘Zumi.” 

“He’s my favorite!” Izumi reaches out for Sokka instead, who takes her and holds her close. She is hiccuping on his shoulder now, and the sleep ridden, confused man can’t quite grasp what is happening. 

“It’s just me, ‘Zumi.” Sokka promises her, rocks her as she settles from her hysterics. 

“Why are you so upset, Izumi?” Zuko asks, rubbing his daughter’s back gently. Sokka takes note to how Zuko slowly rests his head on Sokka’s shoulder, to how Izumi wraps her little hand around Zuko’s fingers. 

“I- I had a bad dream,” Izumi sniffles. “And I- I couldn’t find my glasses. Or- Or my stuffed animal… he fell off my bed.” And there— there was something in my closet.” 

“I know what to do.” Zuko says. He shifts and leans over, pulling a bag out from under his bed. There’s a zip, and another noise,and the rattling of… bamboo? 

“Princess Izumi.” He makes a show of handing over his bamboo kendo sword to her, and passes one to Sokka. He is left with the third. He can’t be serious. But the expression on his face tells Sokka he is _deadly serious._

The three of them creep from Zuko’s bedroom down the quiet hallway, Druk following behind in all his hairless glory. They grasp the swords tight, and Sokka thinks for a moment: _I cannot believe I got my own Westley._ He then adds on to that: _Zuko would kill me if I told anyone about this._

“Sir Sokka.” He is drawn from his thoughts when Zuko, the grumpiest little bastard he has ever known, turns to look at him. “Check the closet for us, please.” 

“Uh,” it takes him a second to fumble into his role, and he holds his sword up, bows. “Yes, my lord.” It makes Izumi giggle. 

He takes a few steps into the room, and switches on the light with the tip of the bamboo blade. It’s a typical bedroom, smaller than Zuko’s with a bigger window. There’s a little window seat, and books shoved on the shelf beneath it. She has a tiny television, with VHS tapes piled around it. Her closet is the folding kind, where the door folds in on itself and has slits of wood instead of solid framing. He pulls open the door, makes a show of waving around the kendo blade nervously. 

It’s just clothes. A few stray shoes on the floor. A dirty sock.

“All clear!” He shouts, whipping around. 

Zuko is guarding Izumi, a flush across his cheeks. He slowly lets the blade fall from its position, instead making slow movements towards Izumi’s bedside, where he pulls out her glasses. “Here you go, pumpkin.” 

He plops them on her nose and takes the kendo sword from her, dropping her down on top of her bedsheets. She slips beneath them with ease, watching as Sokka shuts the door to her closet. 

“Otou-san?” Izumi asks, as Zuko tucks her into the bed. “Why’s Mr. Tuvak here? Am I really not invited to your sleepover?” 

“It’s not a sleepover, baby.” He laughs, presses a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?” He brushes back her hair. He looks over at Sokka nervously. He could use some of that Masters of Education knowledge right now. Should he email Sokka’s professors and ask: _I started dating my daughter’s teacher, and I think I’m in love with him, but I haven’t told him yet and I never told her about him, what should I do?_

Or maybe he could ask Mai. But she’d never let him live this down. 

“Can… can Mr. Tuvak lay next to me while you read my story?” Izumi asks him, and before he can answer, Sokka tosses himself in the available space at her side, dropping the sword at the end of the bed. 

“Yeah I can!” He exclaims, placing a stuffed animal on his stomach. It’s a unicorn, with a floppy neck and squished horn. She has been well loved. 

“That’s Princess.” Izumi explains. He shakes her hoof in greeting. 

She opens up her blanket, and he tucks Princess in between them, shifting around and moving. It makes Izumi laugh as he gets comfortable, and he wiggles his eyebrows at her. 

“You’re gonna love it. Otou-san reads the books the best. Even better than you. He makes them all have funny voices.” 

“Oh, I’m at the edge of my seat!” 

“Ahem,” Zuko clears his throat, holding a picture book in his hands. “May I have silence in the audience?” He is flushed pink at the idea of reading in front of Sokka. But anything for his little girl. 

The story starts normally, with laughter and snorts from the peanut gallery. Zuko manages to get though most of the story with minimal giggling and Sokka’s insistence that he show the pictures. Izumi doesn’t even think about why Sokka is there again. She is easy to placate at this age, and when she is this tired. But it won’t last forever, and Zuko can’t stop thinking about what he’s going to _say_ to her in the morning. He guesses he could just be honest. But all of that feels overwhelming. He doesn’t want her to feel replaced, or for her to feel like he’s been hiding something. By the time he is finished with the book, Izumi is sleepy eyed and Zuko is more nervous than before. He still has not got one clue what to do. 

Izumi makes a sleepy noise, and grabs the stuffed unicorn from Sokka’s arms. She rolls onto her side and looks up at Zuko expectantly, and he does what he normally does. He takes her glasses off, folds them up and sets them on her nightstand. He runs his fingers through her hair and says, “See you in the morning, Izumi.” He smiles, kisses her forehead. 

“Love you, Otou-san.” She says blearily. 

“Love you, ‘Zumi.” He kisses the top of the unicorn’s head too, and stands up slowly. “Come get _us_ if you need anything, okay?” The _us_ is not lost on Sokka, who feels his limbs tingle as he think about it. They are an _us_ now. 

Sokka creeps off the bed slowly, padding towards Zuko to make his way out of the bedroom. Izumi makes a loud sound, and they both turn back, nervous. 

“Mr. Tuvak?” 

Sokka sneaks a peak at Zuko, who shrugs his shoulders and motions towards his daughter. Sokka walks back to her side of the bed, kneels down next to it. 

“Yeah, duckie?” He leans his head on one hand, curiously searching her face. 

“Love you, Mr. Tuvak.” She holds up her unicorn, almost expectantly. 

Sokka’s been told _I love you_ by kindergartners all year. In fact, three students on the first day told him that after he helped them find their classrooms. Izumi might have even said it to him before. This time it feels different. He feels like he is toeing into a family, into a world he never thought he would belong in. 

Slowly, he dips his head down to kiss her forehead, and then the unicorn’s. Just like Zuko did. 

“I love you too.” He smiles, switches off her lamp, and rejoins Zuko, taking his hand and squeezing his fingers tightly. 

As soon as the door shuts, Zuko starts to guide him back to bed, and he feels a tightness in his throat. For some reason, now that Izumi knows, he feels like it will mean even _more_. It’s even more real. Looking at Zuko now, his heart leaps. 

“She’s going to tell everyone about it.” Zuko says casually, as he shuts his bedroom door. He runs his fingers through his hair, dumping the kendo swords into their bag beneath his bed. It must be a regular occurrence to show off the wooden blades to any creeping monsters. “She told our cashier at the grocery store about you. Everyone. Aang thinks you can’t be real, she just goes on and on when he watches her.” 

“That’s sweet.” Sokka says, meeting him on the bed. He drops down next to him, knee to knee. 

“I was worried she would steal you.” Zuko teases, pinching Sokka’s knee. He falls backwards, hair flopping in his eyes. The curtain parts, and the moonlight falls over his face, a beautiful image, a Leonardo in the making. Sokka wishes he could paint. Maybe the moon took pity on him in that moment, painting him in the light that he could not. 

“Aw, baby. Do you talk about me to the cashier too?” Sokka flops back down next to him, propping his head up to look down at Zuko. Zuko promptly shoves a pillow in his face, snorting. 

“Fuck off.” Zuko hisses, pulling the pillow off his boyfriend’s face and plopping it down over his eyes. It grew quiet for a moment, and Sokka could just tell he was sulking. Throwing his leg over Zuko’s hip, he wrestled the pillow from Zuko’s rosy fingers, intending on making him laugh. 

“Don’t be so mean to me--” Sokka starts, noticing the pout Zuko is forcing on his face. He laughs, the sound of a belltower filling the little room. 

“What! Stop laughing at me--” The little fireball beneath him fumes, squirming under his touch. 

“You look just like her! When she gets angry! You copy-and-pasted your daughter!” Sokka’s laughter grows brighter, and Zuko can’t help it. He melts, his hands coming up to rest on Sokka’s hips. His hair falls back, and all he can see is his scarred smile and his shimmering brown eyes. 

“There’s one thing I beat her at.” Zuko says, sitting up. Sokka almost falls backwards, if it weren’t for the steady hand that presses to the small of his back. 

Sokka laughs, unbelieving. “Like what?”

Zuko seems to pause, like he is getting himself ready for something. Like he is making sure he is capable of saying it. “I love you.” A beat, the fluttering of a hummingbird heartbeat.

“I love you differently.” His brown eyes search Sokka’s, his throat dry. “And I love you more. More than I have ever… ever loved someone. You’re a daydream, Sokka.” 

He holds him by the shirt tighter, their sleepy gazes meeting. Zuko’s are clouded by tears, anticipation, and fear. Sokka breathes. It is quiet, and if he cranes his head, he can hear Izumi’s sleeping breaths. He inhales, heavy, all encompassing. 

“I’m scared you’re made up. I don’t understand how someone can be so effortless--”

“Zuko, baby,” Sokka’s hand, larger than his own and cool, presses to Zuko’s warm cheek. “You talk too much.” 

It was like being let inside a cathedral. The wind was whistling and he was free to pull the bell wildly. He could jump in the pews and topple over the relics. He could run and scream and _be._ He kisses Zuko like it is a sin _not_ to. He holds Zuko’s face like he is made of glass, like this, this beating heart, is the best thing he has ever laid hands on. It does not matter what the morning will bring, they have this, they have now.

“I love you.” He pushes them both backwards, his hands traveling from his cheeks to his chest, to the dip in his hip bones. Their lips have parted, in that sweet transition, between being apart and together, when the puzzle pieces are still stuck together. “I love you here, and here, and here,” His cheekbone, soft and full, the spot Sokka could press his face against his neck for optimal comfort, to be surrounded by Zuko, to here, where he grabbed when he danced with him in their quiet moments. 

Zuko’s eyes are filled with starlight, shimmering and misty. A tear falls. Neither of them speak of it. 

Sokka falls into his chest, the spot where his heartbeat is loud and firm. _And here_ , he whispers, as he listens to the arteries, the chambers and the aorta, the tunnels of Zuko’s heart that had only been traveled by Sokka, doors and gates and locks that only Sokka was allowed into. 

And the world settles, stars in their eyes and warmth in their hearts.

\--

“So, you and Otou-san?” 

“Oh, hush, he’s still sleeping.” 

“I know growned up stuff, Mr. Tuvak. I know that I’m not allowed to kiss anybody yet, but Otou-san can. Do you take him on dates?”

Zuko groans, and both voices get suddenly quiet. He twists, pressing his face against what he thinks is Sokka’s shoulder. His eyes open, blurry. “Hm?” 

“Otou-san! I know that you’re dating Mr. Tuvak. But he didn’t telled me. I figured it out, all by myself.” Izumi’s fluttering voice, tucked in between Sokka and Zuko. Zuko quirks a brow, his body feeling like jelly, not quite matching up with his mind. 

“I really didn’t!” Sokka exclaims, wrapping his arm around them both. “She’s just a genius.” They share a look, grinning. 

Zuko opens his eyes, rubs them and yawns. It’s Saturday, the world feels quiet. Scratch that, the world is right here. Within arms reach. He looks over at the two of them, and instead of arguing, he kisses Sokka’s cheek, scoops Izumi up. He throws the bespeckled girl over his shoulder, stepping over Druk as he climbs out of the bed. Izumi squeals, laughter bubbling up in her.

“Hey! That’s my friend!” Sokka shouts, trying to scramble out of bed along with him. 

“Hurry up, or we’ll eat all the bacon.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Sokka learned a lot in the few months of his first assignment. First, he learned kids love science. Kids love experiments and they love when he puts on a lab coat and shimmies across the room singing. He learned that they sometimes need a brain break, sometimes they need to run around the room and get their wiggles out. He learned that they are easily impressed when he does a handstand. He learned that “if you hear me clap once” only works the first few hundred times, and he has to start getting more original: “If you hear me raise your hands up as high as they go! If you hear me pat your knees!” He’s learned that nap time is essential, and they like it when he brings a guitar and joins in on their dance breaks. 

He’s learned that some kids make an impact on you. That some of them stick with you forever. That some of them come with a concerned father, with perfect long hair and a deep scar and secrets. Some of those kids’ fathers become the love of your life, and some of them make bacon in their kitchen. Some of them dance to Redbone with you while flipping pancakes, and some of them have daughters who will stand on your feet while you teach her how to waltz. And some of them have a daughter, who months down the line, grabs your knee and calls you Papa. And maybe, maybe if you’re lucky, it makes you cry. 

Some of their fathers have a bright smile, a warm touch, some of them love mochi ice cream and spicy noodles too much. 

Someone might be lucky enough to find someone like this, with at least a few of those qualities. But they’ll never have it all, because Sokka does. And he isn’t giving Zuko up anytime soon. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> all my semi-obscure references...  
> Izumi's Japanese lesson!  
> Otou-san: Father; how you address your father to him, sounds especially childish to the local ear.  
> Chichi: Father; how you address your father to others, in a professional setting.  
> Sokka's playlist:  
> Sowing the Seeds of Love by Tears for Fears  
> Come and Get Your Love by Redbone


End file.
